


A Different Kind of Person

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Child Stiles Stilinski, Child abuse/neglect, Gen, Kate Dies, Redo of Season 1, Stiles saves the day!, Touch-Starved Stiles Stilinski, who cares?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: Stiles is ten, his mother is dying, his father isn't dealing and he spends a lot of time alone. Tonight, it's a good thing when he goes to spy on the Hale family.





	A Different Kind of Person

He could think of being home alone as boring or scary, but lately it’s been kind of a relief.

Scary is being alone with his mother. Even in the hospital, even when she’s so weak it’s obvious she won’t be around much longer, she can still be scary. Scary when she yells at him, trying to push him away from her, or worse when she grabs him, yelling, “You’re a monster! You can’t be left alive, you’re a monster!” and the nurses have to pull her off.

Or his father pulls her off, pulling her into a hug. Sure, he tells her, “He’s not a monster, Claudia, it’s Stiles. He’s our son, he’s _your_ son, it’s the illness talking…”

But he’s hugging her and Stiles is left rubbing his arm or his neck where she’s grabbed him. So yeah, being alone is fine.

 

His father is downstairs asleep in his recliner. Asleep is better than saying he’s passed out again. Hospital visiting hours are over and he came home and promptly drank his stinky whiskey until he fell asleep. Home with his father is the same as being home alone.

Being alone means he can wander the town for a bit, be by himself with no one questioning him. Sure he could go with Scott, but if something happens and they have to run for it, Scott ends up having an asthma attack. He loves Scott and Scott is a frigging ray of sunshine, but sometimes Stiles doesn’t need a ray of sunshine. He needs to wander by himself and study the town and try to figure out why it’s such a strange place.

His favorite place is the preserve, which isn’t that far from his house, not when he’s on his bicycle.  He’s dressed in black (like a ninja!) and peddles fast, sticking to the side roads and paths that leads him there as quickly as possible. Tonight he wants to see if he can get close to the Hales’ house and see what he can learn about them. It’s not just curiosity, not only that. He needs to watch them because he’s pretty sure they’re vampires. They’re something certainly. Maybe the monsters his mother thinks about, although if they are vampires or monsters or something, they seem to be okay ones. He goes to school with one of the Hale daughters, Cora. She’s tough and feisty and she doesn’t make fun of Scott’s asthma and doesn’t slam him into the lockers like some people do.

But he’s also seen her angry and one time her eyes went this weird gold color before she shut them and turned away, muttering under her breath. Okay, she had a good reason, someone was making fun of her older brother, Derek, talking about how he has all the good looks in the family and how even the teachers look at him and she got mad. Mad enough to turn away with a weird growly noise and Stiles absolutely knows he saw her eyes flash gold, which was weird, but Stiles won’t tell anyone.

Okay, there’s the question about how they can be outside during the day, but Stiles has read a lot about it and that seems to have started with Hollywood movies, not facts. Okay again, facts about vampires might be questionable at best, but there’s really nothing that says they automatically blow up when they’re in the sun. Cora doesn’t run track or anything, so it’s not like she’s outside during the middle of the day.

It’s all confusing and interesting and now he’s at the Hale house, parking his bike in a small copse of trees a few yards from the house.

He’s quiet for a moment, trying to get his bearings and then he hears something and smells something. There’s noises around him and he smells… he smells something that smells like gasoline or something that shouldn’t be there in the woods.

It’s darker in the preserve, even with the stars and lights shining from the house. Nine o’clock at night in the preserve is darker than the roads he took to get here. After a minute his eyes adjust and he can see people creeping around; there’s no other word for it. They’re also in black, ski masks over their faces as they scurry around the house, dropping something he can’t quite see behind them.

But the smell of gasoline is strong and he watches as a woman approaches the house holding what he knows is a five gallon can of gasoline. It’s bright red and stands out in the darkness the same way the woman’s long, shiny hair does. Everything about her screams, “Look at me!” and he watches and hates her on sight.

The Hales may be vampires, but that’s no reason to do whatever it is that she’s planning to do and before he can stop himself, before he lets himself overthink it, he runs out, screaming, “Hey! What’re you doing? Stop that!” and he throws himself at her, grunting as they both hit the ground.

He smells the gas as it spills on the ground and on both of them, giving a quick thought that this might not be a good thing. Generally, when people have cans of gasoline and are up to no good, they probably have a fire starter with them as well.

“The fuck?” the woman sputters, trying to push him off. “Get off me, who are you, are you one of their mutts?” She grabs his chin, turning his face towards her and he wrinkles his nose at the sneer on her face.

“You shouldn’t be here, you’re bad!” he yells, and he knows as soon as he says it that it’s stupid, but he didn’t have time to come up with a real bad-ass script.

She pushes him off as though he weighs nothing, contempt in her voice. “Jesus, you’re just a kid!”

Before he can answer, although he’s got nothing original to say (and ‘Yipee kay-ah, motherfucker’ is the only thing he can think of) there’s someone or something much larger pulling him away from the woman and Stiles can hear noises all around them.

The thing, and it can only be described as a thing, throws the woman against a tree and Stiles hears her bones break as she shrieks. She’s not the only one making noises, screams come from around the house and he tries to watch everything happening around him. He sees someone running from the house and manages to get his legs under him and he runs after the figure, jumping on its back, tackling him as the man wiggles and punches him in the ribs and the head and Stiles shakes his head, trying to clear it.

He smells more gasoline and then there’s a woman at his side, pulling the man off him. The woman’s face is twisted, like some type of animal, with fangs that bite into the man’s neck and when she pulls away blood sprays everywhere, and Stiles feels the warm spray on his face.

He looks away in time to see the man he saw at first with the woman. She’s screaming and trying to fight him and it looks like he’s playing with her – Stiles thinks of a cat with a mouse. It’s obvious who will win, but like a mouse she doesn’t give up. She kicks the can of gasoline and Stiles can see it splash up the man’s leg and sees her smile as she tries to reach into a pocket.

He knows what she’s looking for, the same thing he has in his pocket, a lighter. He’s not supposed to have it, but it was ninety-nine cents at the 7-11 and free with his five-finger discount. He yells “Move!” and hope the man knows he’s calling to him. With claws and fangs showing, this doesn’t seem like someone with whom you want to have a misunderstanding.

The man apparently does understand, moving back and Stiles quickly gets a stick lit and throws it at the woman, praying it works and praying he doesn’t have so much gas on him that he catches on fire as well.

Surprisingly, it works, one of the few things in his life that does.

He can do nothing but watch as the woman catches on fire. He watches her clothes catch first, flames red and yellow and then she screams as her hair catches on fire and it’s probably the worst thing he’s ever seen.

Or smelled.

Before he can think too much about it (and he’ll think about it for a while) the man is next to him and then in front of him, blocking his view. “Boy? Boy, are you okay, are you hurt?” the man asks, squatting in front of him, patting Stiles’ arms. He looks like an ordinary man again, no sign of fangs or claws and if it weren’t for the blood on him, Stiles wouldn’t know he ever looked any different. He reaches out and Stiles turns his head, watching the man’s hand rest on his shoulder. It’s nice, comforting, being touched like this. Gently and with such care and concern. “Can you talk? What’s your name?”

Stiles nods, keeping his eyes on the hand on his shoulder. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. That’s not my real name, but that’s what everyone calls me because my real name is kinda hard and no one can say it right.” It’s a speech he’s given over and over.

The man chuckles, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he removes it, leaving Stiles bereft. “Stiles it is.” The man stands, nodding once as the woman Stiles saw earlier approaches. “Talia, this is Stiles. It seems we owe him a bit of thanks for sounding the alarm.”

She studies him and he tries his best to keep eye contact even though there’s something that makes him want to bow his head to her. “Yes, we certainly do.” She squats so they’re eye-to-eye and it’s only the bit of blood on her shirt that makes this seem strange, or perhaps stranger. “It’s nice to meet you, Stiles. I’m Talia Hale. I see you’ve already met Peter.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, thinking of Cora and how these two must be her parents. He can see the resemblance in the dark hair and eyes from her mother. Peter looks a bit different, hair lighter and curls around his neck, but they have the same smile – and they certainly had the same fangs and claws.  “Are you vampires? I mean, if that’s not too personal or something…” Perhaps this isn’t the right time to ask.

Peter chuckles and glances at Talia before he answers. “No, Stiles, we’re not vampires. Is that what you thought? And while we’re certainly glad you were here to alert us to… to the problem, why _are_ you here? Isn’t this a bit late for a young man your age to be out? How old are you? If that’s not too personal.”

Stiles stands as tall as he can, chin up as he says, “I don’t know what you are, but I saw the fangs and you, you might be monsters or something. Are you? And I’m ten, I think that’s old enough to be outside, it’s not really late, not really.”

Talia and Peter exchange a looks before Talia says, “As I said, we’re grateful you were here.” She looks up as another man approaches, pulling her into a hug. So maybe Peter isn’t her husband, Stiles thinks. He knows there’s a lot of people living in the house, that’s part of the rumors in town, so many family members, generations in ways that most families in Beacon Hills don’t do. “Is everything okay, David? The children?” she asks the man, who has his face buried in her neck, and Stiles looks down, somehow knowing they deserve privacy.

“Everyone’s okay. I’ve called Laura, she and Derek are on their way. I’ll, um, I’ll get things cleared up; perhaps Peter can help.”

The three turn away from him, talking quietly and Stiles suddenly feels exhausted, feeling everything that happened during the day. Getting his breakfast and packing lunch for a long school day. Visiting his mother at the hospital, doing homework as she mumbled about people he’s never heard of, and who may not exist. Home by himself for dinner. Father home and then coming here to watch a family attacked and a woman burned to death – a woman he set on fire.

“Stiles, are you okay?” Peter asks, kneeling in front of him. “I think I should probably take you home, don’t you think?”

“He’s the Sheriff’s son,” David says quietly. “I think there’s…”

Talia nods, saying nothing and Stiles knows they know. About his mother’s illness and his father’s whatever it is. The Stilinski family, falling apart, famous in the way people’s personal tragedies are in small towns.

“I can ride my bike home, that’s how I got here,” he says, gesturing towards where he thinks his bike is. “I’m… I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad I was here tonight. I don’t know what happened, but I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“You know,” Peter says, still on his knees, smile on his face, blood on his cheek. “You know, we’re not monsters, not at all. We’re just… there’s different kinds of people. But we’re people, just like you.”

Stiles nods because he knows he’s different, too. A monster, his mother says. And maybe he is because he set a woman on fire and doesn’t feel bad about it, not in the least. If there’s a monster tonight, it was her and the people with her. “My mother says – said – there’s lots of kinds of people in the world and we need to get to know them and understand them. I don’t know why that lady tried to hurt your family, but she was bad, I know that.”

“What a smart young man,” Talia says and she scruffs his hair and he wants to melt, tilting his head to follow her hand for just another second. It’s like she knows how much he likes the touch as she keeps a hand on the back of his head, scratching gently. “Brother, maybe we can find something he change into before you drive him home. His shirt’s a bit…”

Stiles looks down, smelling rather than seeing the blood and gasoline on the black shirt. No one will notice when he gets home, but he’s not in a rush if he can spend a bit more time here. And brother. Peter’s her brother and for some reason this makes him happy.

“I think maybe a quick wash off and we can find something for him to wear home.”

There’s more lights on in the house and Stiles hears someone call out, “Mom? What happened, is everything okay?” It’s Cora, standing on the porch and he turns away, not wanting to see his classmate in her pajamas, bare arms and legs looking so much more fragile than she looks at school.

“We’re fine, dear. We’ll be inside in a few minutes.”

“What smells?” Cora asks and Stiles can see her nose wrinkled as she looks around. “Mom?”

“Cora, go find something for Stiles to put on. He’s a bit damp and needs a sweatshirt and maybe pants, too, if you can find something,” Peter says, arm around his shoulder as he walks Stiles towards the house.

“Stiles? The sheriff’s kid? Why’s he here, what’s going on, Uncle Peter?”

It’s times like this that Stiles wishes he could melt into the ground, that he could be as invisible here as he is at home.

“We’ll explain in the morning, please do as you’re told.” Peter’s voice is firm, sounding parental in a way Stiles hasn’t heard in over a year.

Cora nods and escapes into the house and Stiles tries to ignore the mutters and whispers he hears as they enter through the front door.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom to wash up,” Peter says, directing him down a short hallway to a large, clean bathroom. Looking in the mirror, Stiles sees smudges of dirt and what might be blood. He’s not familiar enough to know for sure, but from the movies he’s not supposed to have seen, the rusty smudges look like blood.

They share the water and pumps of soap and it’s warm and comfortable and close, and Stiles doesn’t look at whatever it is that swirls down the drain as Peter hands him towels to dry off.

“Here’s some stuff.” Cora shoves a pile of clothes towards Peter and almost smiles at him, before she ducks out of the room.

Peter turns his back as Stiles strips the rest of the way, pulling on sweats that are just a little big. He was worried they’d be girl-clothes since he and Cora are the same age, but they’re just plain and gray, the kind he has at home, although maybe a little thicker and warmer.

“I can wake up my dad if you need to talk to him, ‘cause he’s the sheriff.” He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to share tonight, doesn’t want to share the Hales with anyone, but he knows it’s ‘the right thing to do.’

“I think we’re okay without that. Will you be okay keeping this a secret, Stiles?” Peter looks so serious, so adult, even though his hair’s messed up, looking a bit like his father’s hair in the morning, going in all directions. “It’s important, Stiles. We’re not monsters, but there are people – people like the woman who was here who think that there’s something wrong with us. Something… they don’t understand that there’s different kinds of people in the world. Can you keep this to yourself?”

Stiles nods because he does understand. He’s not like other people and his life isn’t like the other people in Beacon Hills.  Even if he’s not really a monster, he’s not certainly a different kind of person. “Yeah, I can keep a secret. You won’t tell my dad I was here, will you?” he asks, suddenly worried because it’s late, nearly ten o’clock and he doesn’t want to worry his father, not when there’s so many things for him to worry about.

“No, it’s our secret, everything tonight,” Peter says, and Stiles thinks his blue, blue eyes are the prettiest he’s ever seen.

“Maybe I can come back sometime? If it’s not too much trouble?”

Peter wraps a hand around Stiles’ neck and pulls him close into a warm, hard hug. “Yes. I’m sure we’d all love to see more of you, you smart, brave boy.” He misses it when Peter lets him go, misses the warmth and the affection he felt for those few seconds. “Come on now, let’s get you home.”

Stiles nods and even though he’s too old, he takes Peter’s hand, letting the older man lead him from the house. He wants to talk with him more, wants to find out about their family, wants to become friends with Cora and find out who the woman was who hates them enough to try to burn their house. He wants all of this, but it’ll wait.

He’s been invited back and he can’t wait to find out what kind of person Peter is, and maybe he can find out what kind of person he is, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know where this came from, just wanted to write not-quite-right Stiles. I was trying to work in something where he moves the mountain ash circle without touching it, but it wouldn't fit in. Oh well.


End file.
